Somewhere in the next few paragraphs of part 32 of “A Couple of Tenors Short”, you will sail through the 25000 word mark. Amazing, isn’t it?
As the numbers get bigger, finding quiz questions becomes harder and the actual answer comes as something of a discovery even for the person setting the question!
OK, the quiz questions out of the way, here is my mantra. This is a serial. Any new-joiners should start with the opener known as Part One.
The troublesome recap has now settled into its new home. You can find the recap here!
Now read on...
“That was a bit much, guv.” Smithy whispered to Jones as they crossed the foyer to the exit.
“Yes. Getting help from those three is like trying to catch eels while wearing boxing gloves.” Jones replied while examining the lavish plaster ceiling.
“Not them, guv. You!” Smith stopped and glared at Jones.
“Me?” Jones turned to Smithy open mouthed. “You saw them in there! Why on earth do you think it was me going over the top?”
“They’ve just lost their father!” Smithy’s eyes glistened and he quickly ran the back of his hand across them. “You didn’t offer them any condolences or anything. It’s just a bit much!”
Smithy turned away from Jones and walked out of the club. Jones stood watching him, his head shaking slowly. He took another look at the gilded plaster ceiling, swore under his breath before following his sergeant out into his street.
Jones stood on the top step and watched Smithy taking animatedly to Brown and Johnson. He waited a while before slowly crossing the street and walking back to the Zephyr.
Jones had been leaning against the car for a couple of minutes before the three detectives joined him.
“So? Back to the station then, guv?” Smithy asked coldly.
“Not yet.” Jones continued to stare at the club. “Let’s wait for our uniform guys.”
A few minutes later the six constables walked around the corner. In the middle of the group, in handcuffs was Dunker Phil.
“Dunker! How are you?” Jones grinned and got off the car.
“Inspector Jones as I live and breathe.” Dunker scowled. “I heard that they had put you out to grass.”
For a moment, Jones’s brow furrowed and his right hand waved in the air slightly. A memory floated close to recall before vanishing again.
“Nope, still here to keep the streets clean.” Jones stroked his moustache with his forefinger. “I’m so pleased you sorted out your family emergency so quickly.”
“What emergency?” Dunker looked quizzically at the inspector.
Jones shot Smithy a look. “Phillip Duncan, I am arresting you on suspicion of the abduction of Archie McRamie on or about 15th April. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you may later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
Dunker gave a grunt then swore profusely as Brown and Johnson helped him into the Zephyr. Smithy and Jones waited until he was sandwiched between Brown and Johnson in the back seat before climbing into their places in the front.
They drove most of the way back to the station in silence, the sat-nav not even offering directions. Occasionally, Smithy shot Jones glances. Jones ignored him and instead studied the racing pages in the old newspaper.
“I’ve done nothin’ wrong.” Dunker suddenly stated from the back seat. “I want my brief.”
Jones pursed his lips and then inhaled slowly and noisily. “You know the drill by now, Dunker. We’ll get you settled at the station and sort all of that out.”
Back at the station, Jones and Smithy took Dunker down to the cells and ran through the formalities. Dunker glared at Jones, but said nothing. Smithy glared at Jones and also said nothing.
Jones ignored them both. With the paperwork complete, he left Smithy to finish off and started to return to his desk.
“Inspector Jones! How are you?” A deep baritone voice filled the corridor.
Jones looked up and found he was facing a short, rotund man with a ruddy face and gleaming grey eyes. The man’s sparse dark hair had been greased and manipulated to try and give the impression of providing full coverage of his scalp.
“Sir Andrew.” Jones spoke quietly and broke out in a huge grin as he pumped the hand offered by the lawyer. “Sir Andrew Witherspoon, as I live and breathe. What on earth brings you here? I would have thought you would be snowed under at the Old Bailey.”
“Ahhh, yes. Normally I would spend all my time at the bar.” The barrister gave a chuckle at his own pun. “But, I have been asked to perform a very special favour for a particular client. So, I’m slumming it at the sharp end to represent one Phillip Duncan. Do you know where I can find him?”
Inspector Jones swore under his breath.